


Don't

by helizabethg



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helizabethg/pseuds/helizabethg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reaction fic to 3x12; the Ian/Mickey scene from three different perspectives. Spoilers 3x12, "Survival of the Fittest."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't

**Author's Note:**

> So that season finale. Dying a little.
> 
> I've never written Shameless before but I needed to after that. Just to air out feels.
> 
> Anyways, this is the Ian/Mickey scene from Ian, Mickey, and Mandy's perspectives.

He smiles. Tells him that he's up to four reps of twenty. He talks as if nothing has changed, pulling Ian back to the place it all started. As if the fabric of their relationship hadn’t been torn. Ian hesitates, trying to figure out an excuse to avoid it, not to fall back into the same pattern as before, trapped under his love for the other man. Then he follows but Ian doesn’t go in, instead leaning against the doorway. It’s too different. It’s no longer the room of the guy he loves; now it’s his marital room. Ian isn’t a part of it. 

He talks about his wife, the Russian whore, who made him take down all of his Nazi shit because she doesn't like Nazis. And he continues. Like it's a conversation. But it's not; there is no conversation. Ian just stands there, listening, his self hardened heart aching slightly but he ignores it; he’s moving on. 

Then the other man nears him, lips turn up slightly into that sly, suggestive half-grin, he looks down, then up, putting the cigarette between his lips. Like usual, he proposition’s Ian. _Why don’t we pick up where we left off?_  

But Ian knows he can’t. He doesn’t want to fall back into the same pattern; he won’t let himself.

 _Hard to get’s getting me hard, Gallagher._  

Ian shrugs it off. He’s done. He’s going to join the army. He knows nothing will ever change between the two of them and he doesn’t want anymore of the back and forth between love and being just a _warm mouth_. He needs it to be over. So he tells him, he’s going out of town. It’s all very joking until there’s a pause. 

All of it is really happening and he’s hardened again, telling Ian he won’t chase after him like a bitch. 

Ian knows it’s not that he won’t, it’s that he can’t. And he’s come to terms with that. _I didn’t come here for you._ So he turns away.

 _Don’t._  

Ian stops and turns around. It’s not abrupt, it’s not hopeful. His lips curl up into a rueful smile because he knows this is the only way it will ever be. Because, _Not everybody gets to just blurt out how they fucking feel every minute._ And he gets it. But he wants more.

As he walks out, the smallest corner of his heart feels like it’s breaking all over again. His wall is crumbling but he takes a deep breath and builds it back up again. 

 _Done is done._  

XXX 

Mickey talks about anything. It's pseudo commonplace, like they're buddies; he calls him "man.” Like nothing else was there, hanging right beneath the surface, but still in the air. It's no different than it ever had been. But it is. Everything's changed but he can't admit that to himself. He says anything to keep the red head with him. But something is off. Mickey knows he’s not the best at the feelings thing but he can tell. But he keeps talking. 

Finally, he gets to where he really wanted to go. The fucking, the thing he’s good at. _Why don’t we pick up where we left off?_

The _No thanks_ he gets is weird but he’s not put off by it. It turns him on a bit, the difference between then and now. It continues to be light but his smile slowly starts to fade. 

_I figured a way around that._

It was happening. The thing Mickey had feared since he’d actually started feeling something towards the other man. The army. 

And it’s all too real.

T _hat’s a dumb ass fucking move._

Mickey moves to the offense.

_What are you hoping that I tell you not to go? I’ma chase after you like some bitch?_

Because he won’t. More, he can’t.

_I didn’t come here for you._

And it all breaks. It’s all coming down on him and it hurts. The guy he thinks he lo-the guy he has feelings for doesn’t want anything to do with him now, not even just a casual fuck. He knows it’s because nothing is casual now. It can never be casual again. The red head turns away and he works up all his courage, everything he has, balling it all in his throat.

 _Don’t._  

And he turns back. 

But then every ounce of courage Mickey mustered recedes and he’s left, standing in front of his not so simple fuck buddy, trying to form words but unable to. Because, _Not everybody gets to just blurt out how they fucking feel every minute._ For the first time, he wants to. He wasn’t to say how he feels and beg the man standing in front of him, tell him that he loves him and doesn’t want him to go. So he looks away because he can’t stand to look at the boy anymore, for fear of seeing his own failure. And he can tell he’s alone. 

He sits on his bed. He can hear his sister talking then there’s a moment of quiet. He puts the cigarette to his lips, inhales, then lets out a slow puff of smoke. His hands rub at his watering eyes as he pulls himself together. The familiar presence of his only sane family member makes him turn around but he doesn’t want her to see him like this, to know who he really is. 

But she doesn’t call him a fag.

 _Really? That’s all you’re going to say to him._  

He turns around, vaguely surprised at and immensely thankful for her support of whatever there was between the two men. He doesn’t speak. 

Her face contorts and he knows he’ll get the butt of her anger now.

 _You’re a fucking pussy._  

And he knows it’s true. His inability to express his feelings isn’t a strength like he always thought it was, like he was taught it was. It’s a weakness. 

_Fuck._

XXX 

Walking back with the nitrous in her hand, she stops. The voices echoing through the house aren’t from the entryway where she’d left Ian. They were coming from Mickey’s room. She stood, out of sight, listening.

She’d known since the wedding but it all starts to hit her. Her brother and best friend were fucking. Or, from what she gathered, more than fucking. But she knows her brother and his limitations. So she listens to Mickey’s almost lighthearted words, knowing that’s not the way he actually feels about his wife, that the only thing he feels for her is fear of his father. 

But it doesn’t even sound like Ian talking, so levelheaded, passionless. 

Then her heart breaks. 

 _Army._  

She always knew it was coming but only now does it feel real, like it’s really happening. Ian is leaving. She has no one without him, besides Mickey. As Ian keeps talking it all feels so soon and fast. She knows if Mickey told him not to go, it might deter him. But Mickey won’t, he doesn’t. 

 _What are you hoping that I tell you not to go? I’ma chase after you like some bitch?_  

And she knows it’s over. Ian turns away.

 _Don’t._  

She smiles a little; maybe her brother isn’t such a shit head. 

But it ends there. When prompted he says nothing else. She can almost hear the stone in his throat. Ian comes out and she pretends to be coming out of her room. She sends him outside with a slight smile and stops in her brother’s room. She can tell he looks broken up. But she starts on him anyways. 

 _Really? That’s all you’re going to say to him._  

He turns, looking at her almost hopefully but says nothing more. Rage boils in her gut. She can’t take it, the whole Milkovich family and their stone-faced ass-ery, especially from Mickey. She knows he can be better.

_You’re a fucking pussy._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
